Lovely is the sound of animals rustling anew?

Answering his own silent question, Deucalion solemnly nods to his followers.

They ascend.

The men can’t believe it took this long to return.

It was always about the cave.

And the music, the strain divine. Colors erased by the eventide.

Smell of grass and flowers blooming on this healed oasis that was once injured.

But the ritual is for him only; the shades must wake for all this to last.

Shedding his clothes; entering the Way Winding.

The pain is as instant as it’s deadly. "The stone will stand", growls the dark.